


Reading Between the Lines

by roqueamadi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Jaime's mild dyslexia, M/M, and complete lack of survival skills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 22:32:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15059231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roqueamadi/pseuds/roqueamadi
Summary: Reading and writing were never Jaime's strongest skills. This becomes a major problem when he is exiled by the dragon queen and sent to run a relay station. Luckily, Bronn shows up to help. (Post-canon).





	Reading Between the Lines

Jaime was dozing in front of the fire when he heard knocking.

_Knocking._

He lurched to his feet and picked up his sword, shaking the scabbard off onto the ground with a crash. Supplies weren’t due for weeks.

He thought immediately of wights—but then, wights didn’t knock.

He made his way down the watchtower’s spiral staircase. Through the narrow window slit, he could see another snowstorm picking up. At the bottom, he crossed to the heavy door, and put his eye to the spyhole. A figure stood framed by swirling snow, bundled in so many layers of fur his face was barely visible, a large rucksack on his back, his fist raised to thump on the door again.

He didn’t know who it was. He wasn’t inclined to welcome in any wandering strangers.

“Open the door, you fucking cunt!”

Jaime’s stomach flipped over. He wedged the sword under his arm while he fumbled to unlatch the various locks and heaved the door open.

_“Bronn?”_

“Aye, you can put your sword away.”

Jaime felt dazed. He stepped aside for Bronn to enter and then closed the door against the icy air. Bronn swung his bag down onto the floor with a thump, groaning in relief.

“Why are you here?”

Bronn pushed his hoods back, shaking snow out of his hair. “Brought you some supplies, for one thing.”

Jaime glanced down at the bag, then back up again. “But… How did you find me?”

Bronn took his time answering, peeling off his top layer, which was almost frozen solid. “Followed a map, didn’t I?”

“You do realise I’m in exile?”

Bronn looked around the room until he spotted the hooks on the wall, and moved across to hang his frosted jacket next to Jaime’s.

“Well,” he said, while his back was to Jaime, “Whoever said you have to be in exile alone?”

Jaime just stared at him. He thought perhaps he was dreaming. This couldn’t be real.

Bronn walked back over, swinging his arms awkwardly for a moment. He nudged the bag on the floor with his toe.

“I brought those candied almonds you like,” he said.

Jaime’s throat closed up. He dropped his gaze to his feet, trying to hide his expression, and didn’t see Bronn move closer until he was suddenly engulfed in a rough embrace.

Bronn was real and warm and _here._ Jaime threw his arms around him, burying his face, briefly, in the hair behind Bronn’s ear.

“C’mon,” Bronn said, stepping back. “Aren’t you highborns meant to be hospitable?”

Jaime nodded, and hauled Bronn’s heavy bag up over his shoulder. He led him up the stairs.

 

This was probably a terrible idea. He didn’t know why Bronn had come. And he couldn’t very well turn him away. So, as he climbed the stairs, Bronn behind him, he took several deep breaths and blinked hard and looked up to the ceiling and cleared his throat to swallow the lump.

Upstairs in the living area it was warmer. Jaime hadn’t really known how to build his own fire when he first arrived here, but he’d figured it out. He crossed the room and set Bronn’s bag down.

“Fuck, Jaime.”

He turned back. Bronn was standing in the doorway, taking in the room, a shocked look on his face.

“What?”

 _“This_ is what they gave you?”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “You do understand what ‘exile’ means, don’t you?”

“You’re Jaime Lannister, not some common criminal,” Bronn growled. “This is insulting.”

Jaime’s throat felt thick again. He swallowed hard and turned his back, bending to start unpacking Bronn’s bag and taking deep breaths.

Bronn crossed the room to help him, pulling out the perishable items. Jaime took them down to the cellar, using the time to compose himself again.

By the time he came back upstairs, Bronn was looking through the raven scrolls stacked together in a rough pile on the desk.

“So this is your job here, then? This is a relay station?” Bronn glanced up. Jaime nodded. “They gave _you_ the job of running a relay station?”

Jaime felt his cheeks flush with heat. “Yes,” he muttered.

Bronn snorted. “A great choice for someone who can’t read.”

“I _can_ read,” Jaime exclaimed.

Bronn just scoffed. “If you practiced some more, maybe. Why did they give you this assignment?”

“They… they don’t know,” Jaime said quietly, his face burning.

Bronn huffed. “No need to be embarrassed, you silly twat. Most people I grew up with can’t read.”

“I’ve told you before, it’s not the same—”

“Alright, alright,” Bronn spoke over him. “I didn’t come all the way up here to argue with you.”

Jaime hesitated. “Why did you come?”

Bronn scowled, and stalked over to his bag, reaching in and pulling out a paper package. He ripped the end off and thrust it at Jaime.

“I brought candied almonds,” he repeated.

Jaime gave a watery laugh, took one and put it in his mouth.

“They’re good,” he said, his voice sounding broken.

 

He knew Bronn must be tired. It must have taken him weeks to get here, travelling through the snow. He still didn’t really understand _why_ he was here. Despite that, Bronn seemed to have a lot of energy.

He made tea. Jaime hadn’t realised that the slots in the fireplace were to hang a kettle. Bronn put a cup in his hand and stomped off to do something else, and Jaime sat there feeling like he might actually cry over the tea, he hadn’t had any in so long.

Bronn took the place over in the course of the afternoon. Jaime wandered after him, unsure what he was doing half the time. He made a rough catalogue of their food stores and quizzed Jaime as to how often supplies were delivered (not often); he inspected the interior walls of the entire tower and marked in chalk the places the stone needed to be re-mortared, which he said he knew how to do (Jaime had no idea); he kept water boiling all day, and wordlessly took Jaime’s spare clothes and all the bedsheets and boiled them, pulling out his knife to shave flakes of soap into the water, and then scrubbing.

“Can I help?” Jaime asked eventually, as he stood awkwardly watching.

Bronn looked up. “You just sit your arse down and read your letters, like a good little highborn.”

 

Jaime tried.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t read. He _could;_ Tywin had seen to that. But raven scrolls were the bane of his existence. They were often hastily scrawled, in tiny lettering, blotted and smudged. He had tried, but he couldn’t read most of them. Let alone relay them, like he was supposed to.

 

The snowstorm died down before sunset and Bronn went outside immediately to survey the exterior. He came back inside when the light started to fade, hurrying to warm his hands by the fire.

“You have some chickens out there,” he said.

“Er, yes,” Jaime said. “Some died.”

“What got ‘em?”

Jaime shrugged. “I don’t know. I tried to block all the gaps in their pen with straw, to keep them warmer.”

Bronn turned to look at him.

“What?” Jaime asked. Bronn hurried back outside again. Jaime followed him, down the stairs, then across the small walled yard in the twilight, to the coop.

He unplugged the places Jaime had stuffed the straw. Jaime helped, pulling it back out again.

“Cold weather chickens need cold weather,” Bronn said with slight amusement. “You make it too stuffy in here, moisture will build up and freeze, and they die of frostbite. And all their crap turns noxious and chokes them. They need ventilation.”

“I didn’t know,” Jaime said.

Bronn clapped him on the shoulder. “Course you didn’t,” he said lightly. Jaime followed him back to the tower.

“I won’t ask what’s for dinner, because I sure don’t want to eat whatever you’ve been on.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jaime asked, closing the door behind him.

Bronn turned, waving an arm at him. “Look at the state of you.”

 

Bronn was rather good at cooking. Jaime had never minded, back when they’d been travelling together, whatever he’d been able to produce. And, a few hours later when he sat by the fire sipping at the stew Bronn had made, it tasted like the best thing he’d ever had in his life. He’d gone so long on his own meager efforts, and Bronn was right, he had lost weight.

As he was finishing his meal, Bronn brought the raven scrolls over to the fire.

“Come on then, I’ll help you with these.”

Jaime’s heart sunk. He sat his bowl aside and reluctantly took the first scroll Bronn thrust towards him.

“Bronn, I—”

“Your job is to read these. So read ‘em. I’ll help you if they’re too hard. Go on.”

Jaime felt his heart rate picking up as he squinted down at the first scroll.

“Erm,” he cleared his throat. Tried to focus on the letters. Held the scroll closer to his face. The letters were too tiny, and too unclear. He glanced across at Bronn, expecting impatience, but Bronn was waiting with a neutral expression.

“I, erm…”

Bronn put one hand over Jaime’s wrist, lowering the scroll again, and with his other hand pointed to the first word.

“F-O-R. For.”

“For,” Jaime repeated. Bronn’s hand was still closed warmly over his wrist. Jaime followed Bronn’s finger to the second word. He stared at it for several seconds before looking in desperation over at Bronn.

“Q,” Bronn prompted, “U-E-E-N. Queen.”

“Queen,” Jaime repeated, his voice breaking slightly. He looked at the next word. It was no good.

“I can’t do it,” he said.

“Jaime—”

Jaime threw the scroll to the ground.

“I can’t do it, it’s too hard and it’s just a waste of time and it doesn’t matter anyway—”

Bronn’s voice came through the fog.

“Jaime.”

He shook his head, hard. “I can’t, I can’t—”

Bronn’s hand fell on the back of Jaime’s neck.

_“Jaime.”_

The sharper tone made him look up, and Bronn was right there, one hand on his neck and one lifting to Jaime’s cheek. Jaime hadn’t realised he was so close.

And then Bronn kissed him.

It was brief, gentle—just a quick, soft brush of his lips to Jaime’s—and Jaime was frozen by it, his panic stopped, his breath stopped, his body locked in place.

Bronn drew back, looking, for once, slightly unsure, then let go of him, and leaned down to pick the scroll up. “C’mon. One more word.”

Jaime blinked at him for several seconds before reluctantly taking the paper.

“First letter?” Bronn prompted.

“D,” Jaime said woodenly.

“Good,” Bronn praised, and Jaime felt heat rush through him. “This one?”

“A.”

“That’s it, Jaime.”

“E. N. E… Daenerys.”

Bronn took the scroll away. “That’s enough for today. Come on, I’m fucking wrecked.”

Jaime stood and trailed after him as he crossed to the bed in the corner. There was only one. For the first time since Jaime got here, it had clean sheets.

Bronn stripped off most of his clothes on the way there, snuffing the candles, casting the room into the flickering darkness of the fireplace. Jaime followed suit, his heart racing, and climbed into the bed. Bronn climbed in on the other side.

Bronn had just kissed him. There was a voice in his head which kept yelling this phrase over and over.

He lay stiffly on his back and listened as Bronn’s breathing grew slower and slower. He was asleep within about two minutes.

Bronn liked _women_ . Jaime knew very well that Bronn liked women a _lot._ He’d never had the faintest hope, never even let himself consider… but Bronn had just kissed him.

 

When Jaime woke, Bronn was long up. Some porridge sat ready for him on the bedside table, and Jaime almost cried over it; that and the note Bronn had left in very clear writing with all the letters separated: ‘Meet me outside’.

Jaime did as instructed, after finishing the porridge and pulling on all his warm clothes. Weak sunlight shone through the clouds as he stepped out into the small yard and found Bronn mortaring gaps in the wall. He glanced over when Jaime approached.

“Hopefully this will have enough time to dry before it snows again.”

“How did you make that?” Jaime asked, peering into the bucket.

Bronn just snorted. “If you really want to know, I can—”

“I don’t.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Bronn tossed the trowel into the bucket. “C’mon.”

Jaime followed Bronn back inside. He marched over to the hooks on the wall and lifted down a quiver heavy with arrows, passing it to Jaime. “Carry this,” he instructed. Jaime put the strap over his head and settled it on his shoulder. Bronn strung the heavy bow.

“I’m gonna teach you to hunt,” Bronn said with an indulgent grin as he led Jaime back outside.

“What’s the point of that?” Jaime groaned. “I can’t shoot.”

“Did you lose your brain along with your hand?” Bronn growled back. “You can help.”

The tower sat on the northern edge of the Wolfswood. The trees grew thick and dark just meters from the front door, and Bronn strode straight in there.

Jaime hesitated. “Bronn, isn’t… Is it safe?”

Bronn glanced back at him, smirking. “You’re safe with me, princess, I’ll protect you.”

Jaime huffed, but really, his stomach had just flipped over.

Bronn had _kissed_ him last night. He still half wondered if he’d dreamt it.

They didn’t need to go far into the trees. Bronn found a game trail, pointing it out to Jaime. Jaime could see little more than trees and snow, but he tried to see what Bronn saw.

They followed the trail. Jaime passed Bronn arrows and carried his kills. A rabbit, a fat bird, and another rabbit… Jaime was looking forward to eating some meat.

They followed another trail and found a third rabbit foraging just outside its burrow, under a huge fallen tree. He passed Bronn the arrow, Bronn shot—and the rabbit skipped away just in time. The arrow thwacked into the snow just above its burrow entrance, and the rabbit ran straight down the hole.

“Fuck,” Bronn muttered, stomping over and snatching the arrow back. A small avalanche of snow came down as soon as he disturbed it, and Jaime squinted, realising that it wasn’t actually a fallen tree, but instead a low cave. At the same time, a deep rumble split the air. Bronn took two hesitant steps backwards. There was something moving inside the cave.

Another deep growl. Bronn spun back to face Jaime.

“Run,” he said, setting off at a sprint. Jaime followed him. They cantered back along the game trail. Something was definitely waking up behind them.

“What was it?” Jaime gasped as he ran.

“Something mean!” Bronn shot back. “Here!”

He darted off the trail, over to a large tree with a low-hanging branch.

“Climb,” he directed. Jaime put a foot on the first branch and hesitated, unsure how exactly he ought to do that with only one hand, but Bronn grabbed his arse with both hands and practically flung him up to the next branch, scrambling after him.

They got out of reach just in time; a massive brown bear came lumbering through the brush after them.

“Can bears climb trees?” Jaime asked, grunting as Bronn put his shoulder under Jaime’s arse and shoved him up to the next branch.

“Aye,” Bronn muttered.

“Then why are we doing this?” Jaime exclaimed, craning his neck down in time to see the bear rearing up onto its hind legs and latching massive claws into the trunk, hauling itself up after them.

“I was hoping it was a wolf,” Bronn replied, with half a strangled laugh.

“Bronn, watch out!”

The bear closed the distance in a terrifyingly short time, reaching with its paw to swipe at Bronn. Bronn lifted his legs up out of reach as he hung from a higher branch, narrowly avoiding losing his entire leg to those claws.

Then he kicked out with the heel of his boot straight into the bear’s nose.

It gave an offended snarl and for a moment clearly hesitated, considering whether they were worth pursuing or not. Bronn took the chance to shove Jaime higher up, climbing quickly after him. The bear gave one more menacing growl before it gave up, sliding back down the trunk to the ground.

Jaime got his leg over one of the thicker branches and sat hugging the trunk for support as Bronn pulled himself up after him. He sat down behind Jaime, the curve of the branch wedging his crotch right up against Jaime’s arse. Jaime couldn’t stop the slight gasp that left his lips. Bronn noticed, giving a low chuckle as he leaned sideways, a hand on Jaime’s hip for balance, to watch the bear wander, disgruntled, back towards its den. Jaime felt heat rush through him. Bronn _had_ kissed him last night, he hadn’t imagined it, and he thought Bronn knew exactly how much Jaime had liked it.

Surely Bronn wouldn’t tease him like this unless he meant it—right?

“Better wait here for a while, to be safe,” Bronn said in Jaime’s ear, hauling himself upright again.

“Just sit here and freeze?” Jaime muttered, unwinding the string of game from where it had tangled around his shoulder and hanging it from a nearby branch.

“I can think of some ways to keep warm,” Bronn replied, neutral. Jaime turned his head, trying to see over his shoulder to Bronn’s expression. Then Bronn’s lips closed over his.

Jaime sighed. Bronn’s arms wrapped around his chest and stomach, pulling him back against Bronn’s chest. Both their lips were cold at first, but quickly warmed. Bronn lifted his hand to press a finger to Jaime’s jaw, turning his head further, and then Bronn’s tongue swiped forward, along Jaime’s bottom lip, and then inside.

Jaime made an involuntary noise somewhere between a groan and a gasp. _Yes,_ this was what he wanted, what he’d been waiting for… Bronn’s hand slid up, under his tunic, his fingerless gloves letting his bare fingers run over the skin of Jaime’s stomach—Jaime yelped.

“Bronn—cold!” he gasped, grabbing Bronn’s hand to still it under his shirt and nearly losing his balance on the branch.

Bronn just laughed. “Alright, alright,” he said, gripping Jaime’s arm with his free hand to steady him. “Time we went home anyway.”

_Home._

 

They climbed down and hurried back to the tower. They didn’t see the bear again. Bronn chatted like normal, pointing out game signs. Jaime tried to listen.

When they got in, Bronn didn’t relent, and continued trying to teach Jaime survival skills. Jaime wasn’t remotely interested in learning how to skin rabbits—not right now, anyway.

Although he thought Bronn noticed his impatience, he completely ignored it. He fried up the prime cuts, which succeeded in distracting Jaime for a while; he could barely contain the drool inside his mouth as he smelled it. Bronn cut the meat up into bite-sized pieces without him even asking, and sat watching with obvious approval as Jaime practically inhaled it.

After they ate, Bronn brought the scrolls over the the bench in front of the fire again, dropping down next to him.

“Here you go.”

Jaime sighed. “Again, Bronn?”

“Aye, again. You’ll never improve if you don’t practice.”

Jaime took the scroll and squinted down at it again.

It was less painful this time. He didn’t flinch so badly every time he made a mistake. He still worked himself into a frantic state as he struggled through the sentences, but he got further than the night before, and Bronn didn’t hurry him, and only offered hints when Jaime glanced up at him in desperation. When Jaime finished the whole first scroll, he gave a great sigh of relief.

He handed it back to Bronn, Bronn murmured, “Good job,” and kissed him again.

Jaime met him halfway this time, tilting his chin up, his eyes closing and his lips parting under Bronn’s. Bronn drew it out, longer than the previous times, pressing forward, letting his lips slide against Jaime’s. When he withdrew, Jaime grasped the front of Bronn’s tunic, holding him before he could get up.

“How long until you have to leave?” Jaime blurted, his voice hoarse. Dreading the answer.

Bronn leaned back slightly, getting a clear look at Jaime, an odd expression on his face. “I didn’t just drop in for a visit, Lannister,” he said slowly.

Jaime blinked at him, trying to process this, trying to understand what he meant. Then Bronn got up and stoked the fire, transferring more shovels of snowmelt from the bucket to the kettle, and he remembered how earlier, Bronn had used the word ‘home’.

He didn’t think he’d ever heard Bronn use that word in his life.

“You’ll stay with me?” he heard himself ask, sounding rather meek and desperate.

Bronn turned, his expression characteristically confident and amused.

“Come to bed, idiot,” he drawled, and grabbed Jaime’s left hand, tugging him across the room.

**Author's Note:**

> For [Oldstupidtemplar](http://oldstupidtemplar.tumblr.com/) and also ASoIaF Rarepairs Week 2018, day three: love letters. See the aesthetic that goes with this fic [on my Tumblr](https://roqueamadi.tumblr.com/post/175270789154/reading-between-the-lines-bronnjaime-for).
> 
> (Yeah so I realise the link to the event prompt is a little tenuous but I figure there was both love and letters so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ )
> 
> Thanks very much to [salazarsslytherin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dust_ice_fire/pseuds/salazarsslytherin) for workshopping this with me ^_^


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